


Starstruck

by oceaxe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not having been raised in the wizarding world, Harry didn't realize how absurdly easy it was to make a magically binding oath. Now he has to get Draco's name tattooed on his arse. It all turns out for the best, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starstruck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracerene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/gifts), [noeon (noe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noe/gifts).



> Thanks, Gracerene, for providing the prompt! And Noeon for basically the whole premise! This was fun and I'm so glad I was able to get some words out, for finally.

If Harry was going to be magically obliged to get a magical tattoo, then at least it wouldn't be one of those moving ones. The little dragon on Draco's hip was (evidently) constantly tickling him and making him shift in his seat like he had ants in his pants. It was distracting.

"I can't believe you made a Vow! Accidentally!" Draco crowed. "You fucking muggle," he added, pushing at Harry's shoulder as he stood over him, watching the artist inscribe the design of his choice on Harry's arse.

"How was I to know that I can't say 'I swear' without binding myself?" Harry squirmed as the tattoo artist pulled his pants further down. He noticed Draco eyeing the process avidly.

Harry had only been emphasizing how dead certain he was that Draco's cockamamie hunch was wrong- there was no way on earth that billywig-addicted goblins were responsible for the recent spate of graffiti plastered all over Diagon Alley. "If the goblins are behind this, I swear I'll get your name tattooed on my bum." He'd only said it to shut Draco up after half an hour of wittering on. As it so happened, a small faction of disgruntled non-Gringott's affiliated Goblins had in fact been the guilty parties, and thus Harry found himself bare-arsed in the window of the tattoo parlor down the street from the Vietnamese joint he and Draco frequented for lunch.

"And you won't even tell me what it looks like," he groused. "It feels like... not writing? It's like - dots?"

"You'll see," Draco smirked. He had an almost proprietary air about him, like he was personally invested in what this tattoo looked like. Since it was Draco's own name being inscribed on someone else's posterior -Harry blushed - he reckoned he did have a legitimate interest. Draco was as high maintenance as they come, and had exacting standards. At least Harry could rest assured this wouldn't be a hatchet job. He rolled his eyes.

Truthfully, he was little bit excited to be branded this way even though it didn't mean anything. Since they'd been partnered for the last year of Auror training, Harry had been finding himself more and more curious about what made Draco tick. He had this habit of stretching, reaching with both hands to run them through the back of his silky hair, arching his back and exposing his stomach and it was- Harry just wanted to know if Draco did it on purpose, deliberately put himself on display - or was Harry a pervert for compulsively eyeing that swathe of skin, lightly furred with just the thinnest trail of golden hair? Harry swallowed and shifted as the tattoo quill buzzed a little dot very near his cleft. Getting tattooed probably shouldn't be such a turn on, but Draco was standing right there and it was Draco's name - somehow - being etched on his skin and Draco couldn't look away from Harry's arse and Harry couldn't tear his eyes from Draco.

Clearly the reports of the endorphin rush were true - Harry felt addled with hormones and his eyelids drooped to half mast as he surreptitiously ground his erection into the padded table under him. "Potter! Stop humping the table! You'll ruin the tattoo!" Draco barked out. "I always knew you were an adrenaline junkie but I didn't know you get off on pain, too," he drawled once Harry had stilled himself, face flaming and turned away from Draco.

"I like the way it feels," he muttered, mortified.

"I'll bet you do," Draco smirked. "You won't be able to sit down for a week."

It was really unfair, Harry thought, that Draco should be uttering those words in this context. Harry wanted to be sore, alright. He wanted to be ruined. He sighed.

"Is this almost done?" he asked petulantly, happy to pretend that he hadn't just been caught frotting an inanimate object in public.

"Nearly. It looks good, Potter. It looks like it belongs there," Draco said with a self-satisfied smile.

"Yeah, well, it gives new meaning to the phrase 'your arse is mine,' anyway," Harry blurted recklessly.

Draco flushed dark red and looked away.

"There! All done," chirped the tiny tattoo artist as she put down the quill. She laboriously fetched a full length mirror on casters and rolled it up to the table.

"Just have a look, Potter," he said airily as he passed Harry a small hand mirror. Harry twisted up onto his side, his pants still around his thighs but his cock covered by the material. Thankfully his erection had faded to a halfie and wasn't obscenely conspicuous. Even if it was, he thought defiantly, Draco deserved to be discomfited by it, for all the trouble he'd put Harry to. Insisting on his getting name on someone else's bum, indeed. The very height of entitlement and narcissism. He held up the mirror and looked over his shoulder.

Glittering and winking in the mirror at him was a serpentine trail of stars, sparkling and twinkling and just- _lit up_ \- like a neon sign. It covered his entire arse and looked like it would glow in the dark. "What the..." Harry couldn't believe it. "What is it?"

Draco's mouth fell open gracelessly. "It's my name, Potter," he said slowly. "Don't you get it? It's my constellation."

"It's beautiful," Harry said without thinking. "I... I love it." It _was_ beautiful. It was also infuriating and would probably radiate through his trousers, but right now he didn't care. He was too busy being in love with magic, that could create something like this. He actually felt honored to have this on his body, circumstances (and hopeless pining) be damned.

An indescribable emotion passed over Draco's face and then it lit up like the stars on Harry's arse. He turned away to hide his smile, but Harry had already seen how it reached his eyes. Harry felt a jolt of electricity run through him as Draco mumbled something about Harry shocking him with his good taste.

While Harry gingerly stood up from the table and pulled on his trousers, he distantly heard the tattoo artist telling him about aftercare. Draco was pretending to be absorbed by a catalogue of designs.

"Hey, Malfoy," he said and Draco's head jerked up. "Let's go."

"Oh, don't forget about the salve," the little tattoo artist piped as she bustled over and pressed a tube into Harry's hand. "You'll need to apply it three times a day and don't worry about using too much, the tube refills itself! Make sure to get the whole thing covered! You might need help," she added, her eyes cutting slyly over to Draco.

"How about it, Malfoy, you want to help?" Harry said, flushing but not giving a fuck.

"Hm. I'll think about it. After all, I need to take care of my namesake," he drawled glibly, but Harry could see the latent excitement under the apparent calm.

They might need to switch training partners soon. Harry was nearly certain the department frowned on trainees fucking the living daylights out of each other on the regular.

"Let's go to my house," he said. "I want to make sure this heals properly so I can show it off to Ron."

Draco snorted and Harry felt a burst of happiness in spite of the throbbing in his arse. Or maybe because of it.


End file.
